


lonely boy, you are my world

by hanzios



Series: mackson missing scenes [1]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-25
Updated: 2020-11-25
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:28:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27712715
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hanzios/pseuds/hanzios
Summary: Miller's heart inexplicably quickens as he raps on the wood to knock, not because of anything else other than the fact that he knows who’s on the other side.OR: First night on Becca's mansion, after Jackson gets shot
Relationships: Eric Jackson/Nathan Miller
Series: mackson missing scenes [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2026889
Comments: 4
Kudos: 8





	lonely boy, you are my world

**Author's Note:**

> hey! so i'm doing a series of mackson missing scenes with each fic being less than 1k words. each part is also going to be accompanied with a song, some of its lyrics posted at the beginning to set the mood. idk how many fics are going to be in the series, but i'm hella excited.
> 
> enjoy!!

_and they tell me that you're lonely_ _  
it's no surprise  
when you walk around all day wearing those  
lonely, lonely, lonely eyes_

_**-** **lonely eyes by the front bottoms**_

**  
+**

**  
**Miller finds himself in front of a large white door in the dead of night.

His heart inexplicably quickens as he raps on the wood to knock, not because of anything else other than the fact that he knows who’s on the other side. Part of him hopes Jackson has already fallen asleep, so Miller can bolt out of there and rethink _why_ he’s visiting in the first place.

But, alas, a few seconds later, the door swings open.

Jackson looks shocked to see him, dressed in a plain black t-shirt, slightly sticking to his skin. His hair is damp, and he smells absolutely delightful; seems like he had the same idea as Miller when he first saw the immaculate shower connected to his room.

“Miller?” he asks in confusion.

“Just wanted to check how you were doing,” Miller explains, his eyes drifting to the bandage on Jackson’s upper arm. “Hell of a bullet wound.”

Jackson’s hand goes to his arm self-consciously. “Yeah.” There’s a beat of uncomfortable silence before he says, “I was just about to change my bandages. I’d, uh, like some help, if you c–“

“Sure,” Miller says quickly, already letting himself in.

He scans his eyes around the large room – definitely less spacious than Miller’s. Jackson has thrown his bag on the floor beside the bed, a pile of his clothes right on top of it. The silk sheets look untouched, not a single crease in sight. Miller wonders if Jackson, like him, had felt uncomfortable in such a luxurious place, and it saddens him knowing they’ve gotten used to such harsh living conditions that a couple soft pillows is too much to bear.

Jackson fishes his supplies from his bag as Miller sits at the foot of the bed. He watches as Jackson makes his way over to him, a spool of fresh bandages in his hand. When the doctor rolls up his sleeve a little, Miller notices the bulk of his biceps.

Man, he never knew Jackson was _this_ muscled, hiding behind all of the baggy clothes he always wears.

He gulps, starting to take off the old, wet bandage.

“This house is insane,” Miller comments, trying to take his mind off of the electricity of touching Jackson’s skin.

He chuckles. “It is. I can’t believe our ancestors used to live like this.”

“With a shower with a million goddamn buttons, too,” Miller adds, smiling. “How privileged do you have to be to control both the temperature _and_ strength of your shower?”

“I felt guilty wasting so much water,” Jackson replies, the same bright smile on his face.

As handsome as he looked from far away, he looks much more beautiful up close. Jackson has always carried himself with an air of gentle professionalism, a placid look permanently strewn on his face. Miller realizes how he’s never seen him smile this big before, and now that he _has,_ he feels like he’s staring into the sun itself.

Miller takes the dirty bandage and flings it onto a trash can near the closet. The roll unfolds mid-air, making it limply fall to the carpeted floor. He hears Jackson laugh behind him as he walks over to pick it up and throw it in the can.

“Glad I amuse you,” Miller teases as he sinks back into the bed.

Jackson’s looking at him with a bright glint in his eyes, and from the orange glow above, his browns look warmer, livelier. In contrast, there are dark bags under his eyes, but somehow it only makes him look more handsome.

Miller is enjoying discreetly dissecting every little feature of Jackson’s face. He thinks he’ll be satisfied doing this forever.

Miller takes the fresh bandages and gently wraps it around Jackson’s healing wound, as instructed.

“Ever been shot before?” he asks.

Miller notes how he seems to lead the conversation, confirming his previous impression that Jackson isn’t much of a talker. But Jackson isn’t _awkward,_ either, as much as Arkadians would like to say of his demeanor. Jackson holds an air of comfort around him, so being in his vicinity makes Miller feel at ease.

He’s not shy, he just… chooses when to talk. Miller likes that about him.

He likes that he chooses to talk with Miller.

“Fortunately, no,” Jackson replies. “The most I’ve gotten injured was getting stabbed by an empty syringe.”

Miller raises his brow at that, momentarily stopping from his task at hand.

Jackson chuckles at the soldier’s gaping expression. “I was an apprentice. This man I was treating was having psychotic episodes and accidentally pierced me in the arm. He almost got floated for it, but I testified in his favor about the severity of his mental illness.”

“You let him get away with it?” Miller asks, surprised, tightening the bandage and sealing it shut.

“It wasn’t his fault,” Jackson says easily, examining Miller’s work. He nods in appraisal, a slight tug at his lips. “Not bad. You coming for my job, Miller?”

 _That_ makes Miller laugh. “Oh, Abby didn’t tell you? I’m working on the Nightblood solution with you guys.”

Jackson bursts out laughing, and Miller is quick to decide that it’s his favorite thing in the world.

He rises to his feet, Miller following suit. “Thanks,” Jackson says. “I needed that.”

Miller grins. “Anytime.”

Jackson walks Miller out the door, something deep and exciting settling in both of their chests. Miller would’ve liked to continue their conversation, but he knows Jackson needs to rest to be able to work again tomorrow.

When Miller steps into the hallway, he turns to Jackson. “Goodnight.”

Jackson’s smile is bright like the sun, but never burns. “Goodnight, Miller.”


End file.
